


The Times In-Between

by ljunattainable



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Post canon, Team Free Will, human cas, post s9
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 03:43:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1168271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ljunattainable/pseuds/ljunattainable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The gates of Heaven and Hell are closed, and when Dean asked Cas to stay, he did.  To do so he had to give up his grace, and human again, he's determined to be better at it this time than before.  It's no easier this time around though.  He finds hunting easy enough, but he needs to work on the times in-between and he finds fortune cookies are very helpful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [snowin_you](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowin_you/gifts).



> Although this isn't going to be long, I'm posting this in short chapters because I wrote this for Snowin-you (who asked for more of their domestic life and fortune cookies) and I know she likes to read WIPs on the bus, so I'm posting it in bus-journey-sized pieces :o)

“What’s it say?”

Cas looks across the table, over the remnants of their meal (chinese tonight - Dean seems determined that they eat their way around the flavors of the world). Dean is smiling at him, looking at him in such a way that their eyes meet as soon as Castiel looks up.

Breaking the gaze reluctantly, because he could literally stare at Dean for hours, and at times he has done, Castiel looks over the table again. He can’t see anything that might ‘say’ something. He’s obviously missing whatever-it-is. 

“What’s what say?”

“Your fortune cookie.”

Cas looks up again, wrinkling his nose. “My what?”

Dean nods at the light brown biscuit colored parcel, one of three, on a plate in the middle of the table. “Fortune cookie.” Cas thinks about it for a second but he still doesn’t get it and the second Cas’s brow starts to furrow, Dean rolls his eyes, then he reaches across and picks out one of the cookies. Cas watches as Dean squeezes it between his fingers, the cookie cracks, and Dean pulls out a slip of white paper, putting the broken cookie parts back on the plate. 

Cas raises an eyebrow and Dean catches the look. “The cookies are horrible,” Dean says by way of some sort of explanation, smoothing out the piece of paper. He reads it, then screws it up with a look of disgust.

Sam slides into the booth beside Cas. “What’s up with him?” he asks Cas.

Cas shakes his head, staring at Dean curiously. “I have no idea. He was telling me about the cookies.”

“Yeah?” Sam turns to face Dean. “Don’t like your fortune?”

“No. Open yours.”

“Read yours first.”

“No.”

“C’mon Dean, don’t be a party pooper.”

“No.”

“Damnit, Sam.” Dean tries to grab Sam’s arm as Sam reaches across the table and grabs the discarded paper from where Dean dropped it close to his elbow but he’s too late. “Goddamn humungous brother with goddamn unnaturally long arms,” Dean mutters as Sam grins and re-straightens the paper, flattening the wrinkles.

Cas leans across to try and read it but Sam waggles a finger at him. “Uh uh.” Sam reads it and smiles, then reads it aloud. “You need only look in a mirror for inspiration, because you are beautiful,” he reads grinning. “What’s wrong with that?”

“They should make the damn cookies in pink and blue so you can tell which ones have the girly stuff in,” Dean mutters.

“But you are beautiful, Dean,” Cas says honestly, not entirely sure what the problem is. Sam snorts in amusement.

“Jesus, Cas, do you have to? Dude, guys are not beautiful.” Sam laughs out loud now, so obviously what’s happening is funny, maybe at Cas’s expense because Cas is getting very confused, which admittedly is nothing new. He often wishes there was some kind of manual to humanity. Humans are so contradictory, Dean more so than anyone else he’s met. “But the other night you said I was beaut… .“

Dean’s expression turns pained. “Cas, no!” Sam almost chokes on his beer. “Time and place, man, time and place,” Dean says, his voice a little higher than usual, and he’s blushing which Cas has learned to mean he’s embarrassed. “Just… just open your cookie,” Dean says seeming keen to change the subject. It’s probably a good idea.

Cas takes a cookie. He cracks it open and discarding the cookie itself as Dean had done he reads the words on the paper to himself. ‘The object of your affection will come closer’. 

Sam leans across to read with him. “I don’t think he could get much frigging closer most of the time,” he chuckles. 

Sam’s probably right. Cas isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do with this information. Then Dean leans across and wraps a hand around Cas’s wrist. “Show me.” The gentle warmth of Dean’s fingers belies the gruff demand in his voice. 

Cas looks at Dean’s hand, his eyes opening wider in surprise, then he turns to Sam. “He did come closer,” he says, handing Dean the slip of paper to read.

“Yeah, he did. Fortune cookies are always right. Didn’t Dean tell you that?” Sam says, before breaking into a new fit of giggles.

“Frigging pink fortune cookies, every one of them,” Dean says, balling up Cas’s fortune and flicking it into the middle of the table. Sam’s still giggling. Cas looks from one to the other. There are times he really, really wishes he understood everything that was going on. But Dean’s fortune cookie had been right, and Cas’s fortune cookie had been right. He stares at Sam’s unopened fortune cookie lingering on the table. He wants to open it. He itches to open it. 

When they pay the check and leave ten minutes later, Cas lingers so he’s last out from their table. As the brothers turn their backs and walk away Cas picks up the last cookie and puts it in his pocket.


	2. Chapter 2

One of the most bamboozling things about humans, Cas decides, is the absolutely ridiculous array of tools they’ve invented to do what appears on the surface to be the simplest thing. 

Take kitchen implements,for example. He’s taken every single one of them out of the drawers and lined them up along the counter in the kitchen from left to right and they take up at least three meters of counter space. He’s not sure what half of them are even for, and why they would possibly need so many tools that seem to do exactly the same job is beyond him. Cas managed for millenia on just his angel blade, and all Doctor Who has is a screwdriver, though now he thinks about it there’s a lot of things the screwdriver would be completely useless for in a kitchen.

He runs his fingers through his hair and tugs in frustration. 

Cas got back from his trip last night. Cas has become what Dean proudly calls a ‘consultant’, which is a glorified way of saying that he goes out and about to advise hunters on rituals, sigils, spells, and what to do about the odd angel or demon trapped on the wrong side of the gates when they were closed. Cas suspects it’s actually Dean’s way of keeping him away from hunting itself, because the nuances of fighting as a human still elude him. As Dean once said, he sucks. But Dean and Sam still hunt, and Dean’s text (saved on Cas’s phone despite the fact he knows the ‘xoxox’ added to the end was intended to be sarcastic) said he and Sam would be back in a couple of hours. 

Cas knows they’ll be tired when they get back and all Cas wants to do is make them dinner - it was supposed to be easy.

He dips his hand into the front pocket of his jeans and pulls out a small collection of little slips of paper. ‘You will soon be honored by someone you respect’, he reads. That doesn’t really fit the circumstances. He picks out a second. ‘A new business venture is coming your way’. That doesn’t fit either, unless he’s planning on becoming a chef, which he most definitely isn’t. 

He puts the little collection of fortunes back in his pocket and turning his back to the counters with a small huff of annoyance he marches out of the kitchen and down the corridor to his room. 

He and Dean sleep together in Dean’s room, but that room is still very much Dean’s. The room he opens the door to isn’t much bigger than a child’s bedroom, but it’s his, it’s where he retreats to on the occasions he wants peace and privacy, it’s where he puts the few personal things he owns, it’s where he keeps the big jar of fortune cookies so Dean won’t find it and laugh at him.

He pulls one out, cracks the cookie and reads the fortune. ‘Whenever possible, keep it simple.’ Someone should have told the people who stocked the Men of Letters kitchen that in the first place. Still, it’s good advice. He puts the slip of paper into his pocket with the others and goes back to the kitchen. 

He puts everything back in the drawers except one wooden spoon, one pot, and one knife. Much better, he thinks in relief, smiling. 

By the time Dean and Sam get home, Cas has a decent lamb and vegetable stew going in the pot. 

“That better taste as good as it smells.” The rich timbre of Dean’s voice echoes through the bunker along with the sound of two pairs of heavy boots walking wearily down the entry stairs.

“It does,” Cas says loudly back. He lifts the wooden spoon up to his mouth to taste it again to make sure, then jumps in surprise when Dean’s hands grip his waist from behind. He hadn’t heard him getting that close and he hadn’t expected him in the kitchen. Dean needs time to bridge the gap between hunt and home, time to shower, time to grab a beer maybe, sometimes time to lie on his bed alone in his room for thirty minutes listening to music. The point is, Dean isn’t affectionate as soon as he gets home. 

“Hi,” Dean says, kissing the back of Cas’s neck between his hairline and collar. Dean’s arms wrap fully around Cas’s waist and pull him back against Dean’s chest. 

“You okay?” Cas asks, twisting his head against Dean’s shoulder so he can see at least part of his face.

“Can’t I hug you if I want to?” Dean asks, kissing Cas on the side of his jaw.

“Of course, it’s just that usually you don’t.” 

Sam walks into the kitchen in his socks and sits down heavily in one of the kitchen chairs. Cas watches him out of the corner of his eye. Sam smiles tiredly at Cas in greeting and notably doesn’t comment about Dean holding onto Cas as if he’s about to fly away. Normal behavior would be for Sam to make a jokey comment.

“Is someone going to tell me what happened?” Cas asks, getting worried. 

Dean gives a final squeeze before letting his arms slip away and stepping back. “Doesn’t matter,” he says as Cas turns to face him. Dean smiles, it’s exhausted but it’s genuine. “It’s over.” He walks towards the door calling over his shoulder as he goes. “I’m going to get a shower then I’m going to get you to prove how good that food is.”

Cas waits for Dean to get out of hearing range, then turns to Sam. “What happened?” he demands.

Sam looks in the direction his brother had gone then back at Cas. “The hunt - it was an angel. De-winged and mostly de-powered and not happy. She had some pretty choice things to say about what she was going to do with you when she caught up to you. Dean took it pretty hard - it was fairly graphic.” Sam smiles. “But he’s okay, I’m okay, you’re okay.” Sam points a finger his way. “And don’t tell him I told you. He doesn’t want to worry you.” Sam pauses, then adds hesitantly, “And Cas, just so you know, I was pretty freaked too. We need you here.” Sam grins. “And not just because you make good stew.”

‘You will soon be honored by someone you respect’, had been the first fortune Cas picked out of his pocket earlier today. He should have trusted in it to be right.

“Thank you, Sam.”


	3. Chapter 3

Dean’s a hugger. 

Cas always knew this, he just never expected it to be applied to himself quite so enthusiastically. Yet here he is, wrapped in Dean’s enthusiastic grip, his arms and legs wrapped tightly around Cas, softly snoring into Cas’s ear. 

The problem is that Cas is bored. He’s been awake for nearly an hour and much as he likes being hugged by Dean, somehow being able to escape would have been good. He’d like to get up and make breakfast after the success of last night’s dinner but he’d settle for being able to read his book. He stares forlornly at the book’s spine facing him a whole hand span out of reach on the floor beside the bed. ‘The Lord of the Rings’. Dean suggested it and Cas feels obligated to read it though he’s not sure he’s enjoying it and he’s already half way through. Still it keeps his mind occupied between Dean and Sam’s hunts or between his own trips to do his consulting and right now it would allow him to enjoy Dean’s octopus impression.

Dean shifts and snuggles closer, which Cas didn’t think was possible. Perhaps he can wake Dean up subtly. He takes in a deep breath so that his chest expands, and surely Dean must be able to notice that, then he lets the breath out on an exaggerated sigh. Dean’s arm goes up and down with Cas’s chest but unbelievably he doesn’t wake. 

Cas wishes he had his fortunes with him - there’s bound to be one that would help - but the open ones are in the pocket of his jeans and his jeans are hanging over the back of the chair. Cas can’t even see the jeans from where he is. Maybe he can remember one that’s suitable, after all he’s used some of them more than once so he knows a fair number off by heart.

Unfortunately the first one he remembers is ‘let sleeping dogs lie’, which is apt, but not helpful seeing as how he’d rather wake the sleeping dog up.

The next one he thinks of is no better. ‘The most useless energy is trying to change what and who God created’. Trying to change Dean into someone who likes to wake up early and doesn’t enjoy hugging would be as easy as trying to turn a battleship around in a duck pond.

Perhaps he should listen to them, just stay here and wait quietly, after all they haven’t steered him wrong yet and Dean’s bound to wake up soon on his own. Dean snuggles closer. For Heaven’s sake! Cas rolls his eyes and feels a rivulet of sweat trickle from his side where Dean’s forearm lies, down his abdomen, past his navel to the sheet.

Breakfast was going to be so good as well, maybe now it’ll have to be lunch instead. It probably doesn’t matter, and perhaps stew on toast, topped with cheese is more of a lunch dish than a breakfast dish.

‘Express yourself: Don’t hold back’. Cas remembers the fortune he opened and ignored a few days ago. It implies he should wake Dean up, just suck it up and do it, live with the consequences. It’s what he wants to do after all. Or maybe, he considers, he could suck something else. 

Dean’s awake of course long before Cas swallows his dick and brings him to sleepy-quiet orgasm with expert and practiced movements of mouth and tongue, but Dean doesn’t seem to mind in the least. In fact he’s so relaxed, Cas decides to express himself again and ask to borrow the car.

“Yeah, okay,” Dean says, reaching up to card his fingers through Cas’s hair. “Just be careful with her.”

Breakfast, by the way, was awful. It was a good idea to get Dean to agree to Cas borrowing the car before they ate.


	4. Chapter 4

Cas hesitates outside the bunker, key in his hand. When he walks in, the first ten minutes aren’t going to go well - after that, he’s not sure. Maybe he should stay away for another night, though in truth that would probably be worse. He’s already been gone two days, and he told Dean this morning that he’d be home tonight.

Of course that was before he crashed the car. 

Maybe crashed is a little bit of an exaggeration, it makes it sound worse than it is. He glances over his shoulder at the Impala standing still and accusing, the driver’s side door badly dented, the driver’s window smashed. It’s pretty bad. It wasn’t even his fault that the other car ran into the side of him at the intersection, though Dean probably won’t see it that way. 

It’s at times like this that Cas realizes his previous relationship with Dean, snatched moments between saving the world, was no-where near enough preparation for living with Dean on a permanent basis. Maybe he shouldn’t be living with Dean, maybe it was a bad idea to launch straight into full-time domesticity when Cas chose to stay on Earth after the gates were shut. Maybe. Maybe. His life is full of maybes.

He picks one slip of paper from the collection in the pocket of his jeans. ‘Conquer your fear, or your fear will conquer you’. 

He’s not afraid of Dean as such, the very thought is ridiculous, but he is afraid of his uncertainty of how Dean will react, and he’s afraid of Dean reacting angrily and emotionally because Cas really doesn’t handle that very well. 

It appears, however, that his fortune has decided he should ‘man-up’.

He drops his chin to his chest to look at the scuffed toes of his shoes briefly then leans back, takes a deep breath, inserts the key, turns it and opens the door. 

“Cas? That you?” Dean’s voice echoes up the stairs as Cas shuts the door behind him. The calm before the storm.

“I crashed the car,” Cas blurts out before he can stop himself, and two seconds later, Dean appears at the bottom of the staircase with long, heavy strides and a disbelieving, angry face. 

“Dude, what the hell,” Dean says as he starts up the stairs. Castiel waits nervously at the top. “I trusted you. What did you do? How much damage is there? Jesus, Cas, my car! My baby!” Dean’s nearly at the top now and Cas takes a jerky step back to lean against the railing, giving Dean room to pass, room to storm outside and survey the damage.

Dean doesn’t. He stops suddenly on the step below Cas, his eyes opening wide, then narrowing. 

“You dumb son-of-a-bitch,” Dean says, reaching his hand up to touch Cas’s face. Cas flinches at the look on Dean’s face when Dean’s fingers come away with the tips bloody.

“I’m sorry,” Cas says quickly. “I’m sure it’s fixable. It’s just the driver’s side door and window. I’m sure we can find the parts or beat it back into shape.”

Dean frowns at him, looking both puzzled and worried. Reaching out, Dean takes Cas’s hand and tugs lightly back towards the stairs, away from the front door. 

Cas doesn’t move. “But the car?” 

“You’re hurt,” Dean says, squinting at him. “Dude, you’re more important to me than the damn car.”

Cas stares at Dean in surprise until Dean rolls his eyes at him in disbelief and shakes his head. Cas stands up straighter, suddenly feeling a lot more confident. “We can fix the car,” he says.

“I know,” Dean replies, giving his hand another tug towards the stairs, “But how about we fix your head first?”


	5. Chapter 5

Cas’s perception of his place in the world has changed for the better.

In his head, the list of important things in Dean’s life ran like this - most important was obviously Sam, then the bunker because that represented home, then the Impala, then himself. Now he’s readjusting. His new list still has Sam at the top for obvious reasons. He considers briefly if he’s ahead or still behind the bunker and decides in the end to play safe and put himself still behind the bunker. He happily moves himself ahead of the car, that at least, no longer being in doubt. He actually feels rather smug - not that he’d ever tell Dean, but he’s never particularly liked the Impala, old and uncomfortable as it is. 

Dean prods him in the side. “That’s a dopey expression. What’re you thinking about?” Dean’s sitting close to Cas on the couch, legs stretched out in front, feet on a cushion that’s been thrown on the floor solely for that purpose, ankles crossed, big toe of one foot poking out through a hole in his sock. When Dean catches Cas looking at his feet, he wiggles the big toe.

Cas has learned not to be one-hundred percent honest with Dean concerning his struggles about where he fits in Dean’s life. Dean tends to take the fact that Cas has doubts personally, and he never gets a straight answer in any case, but he smiles and picks on a close truth. “I’m thinking that I made the right decision.”

“About what?” Dean asks, lifting one eyebrow curiously.

“About staying, when we shut the gates.”

Dean moves a little closer and lays a warm palm against the back of Cas’s neck. “Damn right you did.” He leans in and kisses him, gently teasing at Cas’s lips with his tongue until Cas opens his mouth and Cas feels the warm silky slide of Dean’s tongue against his own.

“Jeez, you guys. Little brother sitting right here! You’ve had years doing this, aren’t you over all the chick-flick making out by now?”

Dean pulls back and stares at Cas and for a brief fleeting moment there’s something raw and soft on his face. Then it’s gone, but it doesn’t matter, Cas saw it, and he knows he was meant to see it. He leans into Dean. Dean chuckles softly. “Actually, little brother, we didn’t have the time to do this before this month - if you want to know the details of what we actually had time to do over the past couple of years, I’m happy to fill you in.”

“Ew, no thanks. That’s seriously information that I could do without. It’s just do you have to look so frigging happy?”

“What, we’re not allowed to be happy?” Dean asks, mock indignantly, stroking the warm, calloused pads of his fingers along the back of Cas’s neck.

Sam pouts. “Of course you are. You know what, forget I said anything. I’m happy for you guys, really.” Sam turns back to his laptop, his neck flushing slightly pink. “It’s just you do have a room, you know,” he mumbles. 

“Our room doesn’t have a 50 inch TV,” Dean says, picking up the remote. “C’mere, you,” he adds to Cas, just before Cas feels himself being pulled across to close the final few inches between them so that he’s leaning with half his back against half of Dean’s chest, and Dean’s arm wrapped closely around his shoulders.

They’re half way through ‘The Shawshank Redemption’ when Sam sighs. “Something strange going down in North Nebraska,” he says. Cas and Dean both turn their heads at the same time to look at him. Cas tenses with every intention of sitting up but Dean holds him in place.

“Hunt?” Dean asks.

Sam looks back at them, eyes flicking from Cas’s face to Dean’s face, to Dean’s hand draped over Cas’s chest, to Cas’s hand resting on Dean’s knee. 

“Sam?” Cas asks, “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Sam says as if he’s suddenly reached a huge decision. “Nothing’s wrong. And you know what? The hunt can wait until tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?” Dean asks, clearly confused - Cas can even feel Dean’s skin wrinkling as he frowns, where Dean’s chin touches Cas’s cheek.

“Yeah. Absolutely,” Sam says, “Tomorrow is cool.”

“Um, that’s good.” Dean is obviously still confused. Sam shuts the lid on his laptop and puts it on the floor beside his chair and stares pointedly at the TV. After a moment, Dean shrugs and turns his head back to the TV as well. 

Cas isn’t stupid, he knows what Sam just did and he’s grateful. He picks Dean’s hand off his chest and bringing it up to his mouth, he kisses it. Dean kisses the back of Cas’s head absent-mindedly. Cas glances over and catches Sam smirking at them out of the corner of his eye. He smiles and he recalls the fortune he picked out after breakfast this morning. ‘Smile for today and just love someone.’


	6. Chapter 6

“What the hell are all these?” Dean drops Cas’s jeans into the washing pile and places the crumpled slips of paper he’d rescued from the pocket in a pile on their dresser. He picks one out. “Good news from afar may bring you a welcome visitor,” he reads. He puts that paper down to one side and picks out another. “The world may be your oyster, but that doesn’t mean you’ll get its pearl.” He looks up and Cas looks down quickly to stare at his bare toes peaking out from the hem of his gray cotton pajamas. To say he’s embarrassed is putting it mildly. He’s mortified.

“Cas?” Dean’s voice is a lot gentler than Cas expects. “There must be over fifty of these. What’s going on?”

Cas looks up. He gulps before answering. “There were times I needed some guidance.” 

Dean’s mouth drops open a little. “From fortune cookies?” he asks in disbelief. “They’re made up - they’re not real. You know that, right?”

Castiel nods. He knows, or some part of him knows. “Sometimes they seemed appropriate and I didn’t want to disturb you with questions all the time. Sometimes I don’t know which decision is for the best.”

Dean chortles. “The world is your oyster, but that doesn’t mean you’ll get its pearl? What decision did that particular gem help you make?”

“Well, maybe not that one specifically.” Cas stands up and crosses to the dresser, reaching out for the slips of paper.

Dean balls them into his fist and pulls them out of Cas’s reach. “Uh uh,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m not gonna have you turn into some hippy fortune cookie believer, not on my watch.”

Cas feels inexplicably panicked. He knows they’re not real, but even so they’ve given him confidence he otherwise lacks. He extends his arm instinctively and makes a grab for Dean’s wrist. Dean yelps in surprise and moves his arm easily out of Cas’s reach.

“I’m going to throw them away,” Dean says. “This isn’t healthy.”

Cas’s eyes flicker involuntarily to Dean’s bedroom door, and Dean’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “You’ve got more,” Dean says, taking Cas’s elbow. “Show me your stash.”

Cas pulls his elbow away and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “No.”

“No? Seriously? Man you’ve got a problem. I’m this close to sending you to fortune cookies anonymous.” 

“What?” Cas asks, screwing his face up in confusion. “There’s no such thing.”

Dean points at him with his forefinger, prodding him in the sternum with every word. “There should be.” Dean turns brusquely and heads towards the door.

“Where are you going?” 

“You are crap at hiding things. I’m going to look in your room for the rest of these,” Dean says, opening the door and disappearing around the door frame into the hall. Cas rushes after him, but doesn’t catch up until Dean’s already made his way into Cas’s room.

“I can stop any time I like,” Cas gasps out.

“Yeah?” Dean asks, not really paying attention, working his way through the drawers in Cas’s desk.

“I could cut down at least.”

Dean turns to face him. “Do you want to eat in or out tonight?” The abrupt change of subject throws Cas into further confusion and his hand betrays him as the fingers dip automatically into his pajama pants pocket before he remembers he doesn’t have the fortunes. He scowls. Dean laughs at him, then turns back to his search. It doesn’t take him long to hunt out the jar of fortune cookies and Cas would find the horrified look on Dean’s face funny in other circumstances. 

“Jesus,” Dean mutters. “How many cookies have you got in here? Where the hell did you get them all?”

Cas thinks the questions are rhetorical and he doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know at the moment if he’s feeling anger or distress. 

“Dean,” he whines. “Please.” He can’t tear his eyes away from the jar of cookies out on display for all to see until Dean walks between Cas and the cookies and then Cas is forced to look at Dean instead.

“Do you want to eat in or out tonight?” Dean asks again. “Is it really that hard?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know,” Cas says, getting flustered.

“Pick,” Dean insists.

“Out - no, in. I don’t know,” Cas moans, “you decide.”

“I’m not going to decide for you, but we’ll decide together,” Dean concedes. “If we stay in, we’re gonna have pasta. If we go out, we can go to that Mexican place you like.”

Cas shuffles his feet. “What will we have with the pasta?”

Dean thinks for a moment. “Cheese sauce and ham.”

“If we go out, can I have enchiladas?” Cas is very fond of enchiladas.

“Yep,” Dean says. The corner of Dean’s mouth curls up slightly and Cas suspects he’s trying not to laugh.

“If we stay in, can we cuddle on the couch later?”

Dean wrinkles his nose. “Yes, as long as you don’t call it cuddling ever again, and especially not in front of Sam.”

Cas tilts his head, a mischievous glint in his eye. He takes a step closer to Dean. “If we stay in can we go to bed early?”

Dean’s voice drops an octave and his eyes flicker briefly to Cas’s lips. “Yeah, we can.”

“If we stay in, I won’t have to wait two hours between kisses.”

“Uh, yeah, that’s true.” Dean breaths the words and moves forward so that his chest is touching Cas’s.

Cas licks his lips. “I want to eat in.”

Dean runs a finger around the inside of his tee-shirt collar. “Yeah, me too.” Dean’s hand reaches out and settles on the back of Cas’s skull. He pulls their foreheads together. “We can make more decisions together if that’s what you want.”

“Okay,” Cas says.

“So can I throw those fortune cookies away?”

Cas hesitates.

“Cas?” Dean says, a warning in his tone.

Cas takes a deep breath. “Yes, Dean. Yes, you can throw them away.”


End file.
